


Knock Me for a Loop

by Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: And sniffling, Does anyone have a tissue?, Fluff, It's orange, Mentions of coughing--it's pretty constant, Pre-friendship at least, mentions of vomit, pre-relationship?, sick!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-14
Updated: 2015-05-14
Packaged: 2018-03-30 15:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3941851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Fine then. You look cold. Join me?”</p>
<p>Carisi stared at him wide-eyed. “In your bed, Counselor?”</p>
<p>Barba sighed at his denseness. “Yes, Carisi, my bed. You. Look. Cold. I am simply offering you my body heat to help warm you up.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knock Me for a Loop

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose this is the start of the slide. It’s been nice knowing you.
> 
> No spoilers? Not intentionally anyway, so if you see one, my apologies.
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own anything recognizable.

\---

 

“These reports,” Barba said, looking up to find Carisi swaying slightly, weight shifting from foot to foot. He cleared his throat, and Carisi snapped his wandering attention back onto him. “These reports are unfinished.” He stacked them neatly and then fanned them out so Carisi could see exactly how many there were, and there were a lot of them. “Half of them are Amaro’s, which I understand due to his recent injury. Rollins, I get—she’s had a rough year. You, I don’t.”

 

“Why am I included?” Carisi stepped forward, reaching out to tug one of his reports from the pile. He flipped it open to the back page, scanning it quickly with over-bright eyes. “Everything’s here,” he said, a puzzled look coming over his face. He showed it to Barba, pointing with a shaking finger.

 

“Are you cold, Carisi?” Barba asked, and Carisi’s confusion appeared to deepen.

 

He shook it off though, like a wet dog with an exaggerated shudder. “I’m fine. You said my reports were incomplete. Show me.”

 

Barba took the report from Carisi, trying to ignore the icy brush of their hands, thumbing through it quickly to find where Carisi had omitted a name or three.

 

“You didn’t fill in supervisor, arresting officer, or…” Barba trailed off as Carisi leaned closer, a greenish tinge affecting his flushed face. “Detective?”

 

Caris opened his mouth to respond and instead of words, vomit spewed out.

 

It was orange.

 

Barba let out an undignified squawk and shoved his chair back from the obviously ill man. Carisi moaned softly, staring down at the puddle of ick. “Sorry,” he said roughly, coughing and wiping at his mouth and nose with the back of his hand. “Haven’t been feeling well.”

 

“What the hell did you eat?”

 

Carisi mumbled something unintelligible, fumbling in his pocket for his hand sanitizer. At Barba’s glower, he ducked his head, a blush rising in his cheeks as he studiously observed the clear gel he rubbed over his hands. “I had orange pop and ice cream for breakfast.”

 

Barba frowned and shook his head. “That’s a terrible nutritional choice for your body,” he said.

 

“I didn’t feel like eating, and my throat hurt,” Carisi spit out. “Hurts,” he amended a second later. “Still hurts. Anyway, I’m sure you don’t want a list of my symptoms.”

 

“Actually, I do. So I know if I catch whatever it is that you’ve got.”

 

Carisi glared at him. “I think—”

 

Barba never got to hear what Carisi thought since he started vomiting again, retching and coughing miserably.

 

Sighing, Barba called his secretary, instructed her to have the cleaning crew swing by early, and took Carisi by the arm.

 

“Come on, Detective,” he said soothingly, “if you’re quite done, I believe it’s time for you to go home and get some rest.”

 

“But the reports,” Carisi protested. “And the Sarge.” He sneezed suddenly, and Barba winced at the mucous slogging down from his nostrils. Carisi sniffled but didn’t otherwise react to it.

 

Barba raised his eyebrows at him to say, done now? Carisi nodded in defeat and let Barba lead him to the elevator.

 

“Go home, Detective. I’ll talk to Benson for you.”

 

Sniffing hard and still coughing a bit, Carisi said, through his stuffed nose, “Thanks.”

 

In lieu of actually calling and explaining that Carisi had ruined his carpet and would not be returning to work that day, Barba sent Benson a text detailing that he was making certain her detective made it home okay. Also, please send Rollins and Amaro to sign their reports, thank you.

 

Benson responded with a simple, infuriating, “K.”

 

Barba rolled his eyes and ran after the detective.

 

By the time he made it down to the first floor, he found Carisi leaning against a wall, hand pressed over his mouth.

 

“Detective,” he said, reaching out to touch Carisi’s shoulder.

 

“Hey, Counselor,” Carisi managed before he doubled over retching. Thankfully nothing came out, and he was able to straighten, smiling at what Barba was sure must be a permanently etched look of worry on his face. “I don’t know what set it off.”

 

“He won’t stop coughing,” the front desk receptionist offered helpfully. She shrugged when Barba looked at her.

 

“Fine,” Barba sighed, “let’s go, Carisi.”

 

“Do you even know where I live?” Carisi asked, willingly moving with him, even if it was more of a stumble than actual walking.

 

“I’m sure you’ll tell me,” Barba said, shifting more of Carisi’s weight onto himself as Carisi dragged his feet and listed heavily to the side. They managed two more steps and then Carisi dropped to the floor, Barba sinking down with him. “Or maybe not.”

 

Carisi leaned against him, resting his burning forehead in the junction of Barba’s neck and shoulder. He whimpered when Barba tried to move him.

 

“Fine. Just go to sleep. It’s not like I can’t deal with you for a night.” He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to stand up, let alone carry the detective’s dead weight all the way to the curb and then hail a cab. Not to mention dragging Carisi into his building and up to his apartment.

 

Luckily for Barba, Benson arrived then in a flurry of flapping coats and waving scarves, and she brought Amaro, arm in sling, with her.

 

All together, they got Carisi into a cab Benson hailed for them without waking him up. Amaro also pulled Carisi’s gun and badge from his belt.

 

“Do either of you know where he lives?” Barba tried, ignoring the amused looks the detectives kept exchanging.

 

“I think you got this,” Amaro said, grinning. Benson pressed a twenty into Barba’s hand and softened her smile so it was more of a thank-you-for-doing-this and less of an I’m-going-to-blackmail-you-with-this kind of smile.

 

“If you expect me to take care of him,” he started to threaten, and Amaro laughed.

 

Benson nodded, her damned smile growing, like she was thinking about starting to giggle, and said “Let him know he’s got tomorrow and the day after off, will you?”

 

“Fine.” Barba rolled his eyes, climbing into the cab with Carisi, who blinked at him sleepily.

 

“I swear, Detective, if you’re only pretending just to get me to show concern for you, I will make your life a living hell.”

 

Half of Carisi’s mouth lifted in a smirk before he resumed leaning against Barba, forehead pressed into that junction again. “Not pretending. Wouldn’t do you like that,” he murmured. “Thanks for this, Counselor.”

 

“Don’t mention it.” Barba gave his address to the driver. He spent the thirty minute drive trying to slide his pocket square under Carisi’s mouth because apparently he drooled when he slept.

 

When they arrived at their destination, Carisi roused enough to stumble up the three steps into the building, where thankfully, Thomas, the night doorman, helped them up to Barba’s floor.

 

Barba sat the detective on the couch, wrapping an afghan around his shoulders while he went about heating up some soup—from a can, no time for real cooking tonight—and picking out an outfit Carisi could wear to bed.

 

He finally made it back to the living room only to find that Carisi had fallen onto his side, legs sticking straight out, snoring softly as he slept.

 

One hand was curled under his head, the other clutching the afghan around his neck. Barba smiled at the image he presented, a much younger figure than his nearly permanently creased forehead and heavily drawn face would belie, and used his phone to snap a quick picture. He would ask Carisi later if he could keep it. Then, he covered Carisi with a sturdier blanket, put the soup away, and headed to his bedroom.

 

He himself fell asleep reading case reports—completed ones—lights on, covers half off.

 

When he was startled awake hours later, he tried to pinpoint what exactly had woken him. Nothing stood out immediately, and he clambered to his feet. Since he was awake now, he decided he should prepare for bed, with actual pajamas instead of a fancy shirt and suit pants. And maybe he should scrub the foul taste from his mouth.

 

Faintly, from the living room, he heard Carisi call out. A few seconds later, he shouted again. It sounded like a nightmare, unless Carisi liked to scream in the middle of the night for no damn reason.

 

He made his way to the detective. Carisi had thrown off the blankets, and was now curled tightly on the couch, shivering. As Barba leaned closer, running his hand down his arm to hopefully wake him, Carisi cried out again, kicking out.

 

His foot slammed against Barba’s leg and Barba yelled in pain. Carisi sat up, hands fumbling at his waist, searching for his gun.

 

Thank you, Nick, Barba thought.

 

“Carisi, wake up!” he hissed loudly. It took a moment, but he stopped moving, turning instead to look at Barba hunched over on the floor.

 

“Counselor?” If anything, Carisi was even more stuffed up, and his throat sounded like he’d been chugging ground glass. “What happened?” He seemed to come to his senses then, dropping onto the floor to examine Barba’s leg, which wasn’t actually all that hurt.

 

“I’m sorry,” he offered when Barba glared at him.

 

“I’m sure you didn’t mean to hurt me.” Carisi shook his head sadly. “Fine then. You look cold. Join me?”

 

Carisi stared at him wide-eyed. “In your bed, Counselor?”

 

Barba sighed at his denseness. “Yes, Carisi, my bed. You. Look. Cold. I am simply offering you my body heat to help warm you up.”

 

“Thanks, but I think I’d better stay on the couch. Don’t want you catching my—whatever this is—unless you already have?”

 

“Just come.” Barba stood, pulling Carisi up with him. In the bedroom, he pushed Carisi onto the bed, heading to the bathroom to at least swipe a bit of toothpaste over his gritty-feeling teeth and dry tongue.

 

As he washed his face, he had a moment of panic, wondering what in the world had come over him to offer to share his bed, much less with Carisi!

 

He shook himself, changed into the silk pajamas he kept in the bathroom, and headed back into the bedroom.

 

Carisi had traded his cheap suit for the outfit Barba had chosen for him earlier. The sweat pants rode low on his narrow hips, and the t-shirt lifted enough to show his knobby spine and the gooseflesh covering his skin. He was currently doubled over coughing, a fist pressed against his lips, trying to stifle the persistent noise.

 

He glanced up at Barba, whining pitifully as Barba yanked the shirt straight and brushed back an errant curl that had come free from the gel Carisi insisted on using.

 

“I think I’ve got some Nyquil, if you want it?”

 

“No, thank you,” Carisi managed between coughs. “That stuff always knocks me for a loop. My mom says I’ve got a low tolerance for things like that. Really, it only takes two beers to kick my ass.”

 

“How does your mom know that?”

 

Carisi shrugged. “My sisters got me drunk once when my parents were out. Oh, man, Theresa got in so much trouble! They—Theresa and Gina—gave me about a double-shot’s worth of vodka. I don’t even remember that night. My parents do, and they still won’t tell me what I did.”

 

He laughed a bit, wincing as he swallowed, scratching at his hair, making it stand up. Barba smoothed it down before pushing at Carisi’s shoulder until he moved so he was lying down. Barba crawled over him, bringing the blankets with him, tucking in the detective while turning off the lamp by the bed. Carisi sighed softly, rolling onto his side.

 

Even in the dark, Barba could feel him staring at him. “What?” he said irritably.

 

“Nothing,” Carisi replied, thickly. “Just. Good night, Counselor.”

 

“Good night, Detective.”

 

Although he thought he would have definitely have trouble sharing the bed, especially after sleeping alone for so long, Barba found Carisi to be no trouble. The detective simply curled up, knees pressed against Barba’s, head tucked under his arm, and out like a light. Barba followed not long after.

 

The morning light woke Barba when it fell across his face. He blinked, sighing heavily, feeling a weight pressing on his chest. He glanced down, finding that sometime during the night, Carisi had moved and was now resting on him, his head on Barba’s chest, his long body between Barba’s legs.

 

Barba carded his fingers through Carisi’s sweat soaked hair, feeling the heat of his skin bleeding through, tugging gently on the strands until Carisi shifted a bit, turning his head and breathing out deeply. His eyelids fluttered open, and Barba marveled at the blueness of his eyes.

 

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” Barba demanded softly, stroking his fingers through Carisi’s hair again. The detective grunted in response. “Be the most pathetically sick person on the planet and yet still be adorable.”

 

Carisi raised his head to stare at Barba bleary-eyed. “I think you did catch my cold, Counselor,” he said, smirking a little. “Didn’t know you found me adorable at all. Thought I was just a pain in your ass.” His voice was morning-rough, catching on the syllables so he coughed some to clear his throat. Still sounded like it hurt.

 

“Thorn in my side,” Barba corrected, running the pad of one thumb over a crease imprinted on Carisi’s cheek. “And maybe I did. Or maybe I just like you better when your biggest agenda is cuddling.”

 

Carisi just harrumphed and buried his face against Barba’s chest.

 

“Benson gave you today off to recover. I think I’ll spend it with you, if that’s all right?”

 

Carisi lifted his head to squint at him. “It’s your apartment,” he said, smiling, letting his head fall onto Barba’s chest again. “But, yeah. I’d like that.”

 

Somehow, Barba couldn’t find it in himself to mind that Carisi had drooled all over his pajama top.

 

~ The End ~

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve edited this almost until I can’t stand it anymore. Let me know if you find any glaring errors, especially tense changes (you’ve probably noticed I tend to write mostly in present tense).
> 
> Thanks and happy reading!


End file.
